I spend most of my time eating and sleeping, or not eating and not sleeping...or existing somewhere in a state that suggests "I'm not ok".

I want to be ok. My hosts have been so generous while I've been attempting to get on my feet. But, it's been two months since I left home with a suitcase full of my precious belongings, to escape a toxic home and family, and I'm still nowhere. I'm probably worse. But I won't go back to the hospital. I won't do anything to put me there. But I'm not doing anything else.

I made two boxes of mac and cheese today, and deigned to play with the puppy.

He says puppies make everything better.

I say... I know know. It doesn't seem that way.

I just know that this tee-shirt is too itchy to wear, I'm not making any money, and the depression is real.